


Daddy Issues (or a series of strongly worded letters)

by KilltheRhythm



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Cristiano James and Dani also are background characters, German NT as background characters, I'm bad at writing forwards and titles I swear that this is better than it looks, M/M, The College AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheRhythm/pseuds/KilltheRhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving into a new apartment, Toni begins to receive letters that are directed to the person that used to live there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Issues (or a series of strongly worded letters)

Toni sighs, unpacking the very last box. It's early spring, and the urge for spring cleaning is strong, but he luckily is preoccupied with moving, something that keeps him from pacing a rut in the floor so deep that he'd fall into the apartment below. He's busy enough that the first letter nearly goes past him without him noticing.

It's a little strange, he thinks, that his first day in his new home, he instantly gets mail. It's not a bill or junk mail either, it's a nice little letter in pretty pastel packaging. He wonders if it is perhaps for someone else in the building, but no, it is addressed to him and him only. But the name of the person who has written it he had never seen in his life. The front of the envelope read:

_From: Isco_  
_To: You know who you are, asshole_

Curiosity gets the best of him though, and as the letter is technically addressed to his residence, he opens it.

      _It's my birthday and I got your card. Before you ask, no, I didn't open it. I burned it and spread the ashes over my city. Thanks for letting me know that you know where I live, I'll be moving soon now. Happy birthday to me!_

Toni can't help but start laughing upon reading this. This was clearly addressed to whoever used to live in the apartment before him, but it's so bitterly written that he finds it amusing.

He sticks it to his refrigerator, and it is a giant hit at his housewarming party (the party wasn't even his idea... but he couldn't say no to the one and only Thomas Müller). Thomas takes a particular liking to the card, wondering who exactly this Isco is. For a short period of time Toni is tempted to google the man's name, but he decides not to, fearing of being creepy.

The second letter comes a month or two later, from a different address, but the handwriting and the name is still the same. This card is even more blindingly bright, but the message is as bitter as the last.

_From: Isco  
To: A Very Disgusting Man_

_Today is Gay Day. I hope you're coping well with the fact that your eldest offspring is a gay man! The LGBT+ community wishes death upon you._

This too earns a laugh from the college student, and a spot on his refrigerator as well. As he sticks it to the appliance, he remarks that this address is a good bit closer to where he lives now.

Through out the course of the year, more cards and letters flood in, one for each holiday. All of them are on jeeringly bright paper, and the handwriting is bubbly and the messages are bitter. The person who they are to remains unnamed, but continuously goes under a series of monikers and nicknames, from "scum of the earth" to "unfortunately, my father". The address, he eventually realizes, is the other apartment building not too far from his house.

\----

      _Happy Independence Day! I'm celebrating my independence from your toxic ass. Also, the world is going to be a much better place once it's LIBERATED from your existence. Hope you get food poisoning from hot dogs!_

_I heard that today is Heterosexual Pride Day. Tell me something: how many people are killed because they're straight? That's right, asshat. You disgust me._

_Just sending this to see if you're still alive. Please be dead._

_Happy Halloween! What's your costume gonna be, an abusive, unsupportive, pathetic excuse for a human? You wear that one everyday though! Shake it up a bit, Jon._

The holiday letters all come quite quickly, and Toni soon has to move the cards and letters from his fridge to a shoebox. Thomas takes delight in them, possibly more than Toni himself.

"Who is he even sending them to?" He asks over coffee one December afternoon.

"They're to his dad. From what I get from them, they had a bad relationship and he moved away." Toni says, leafing through the papers in the shoebox.

"Okay but why you? You're pretty clearly not his dad, Toni." Thomas says, quirking his head to the side. "Unless you're not telling me something, hmm."

Toni rolls his eyes dismissively. "Thomas. I don't date around like you do."

"Damn, you're right. You haven't dated anyone since that one girl your first year of college. And here I was, think bisexuals dated more than anyone else." Thomas teases, shaking his head slightly and leaning back in his wooden chair.

The topic of Toni's near constant singleness comes up again a few months later when Mario, the sweet innocent thing, stumbles upon the winter holiday letters. Mario was rather new to the group, having been dragged in by Marco, who, while running in every single social circle in college, had dragged Mario out of his to "spice up" their lives. Mario didn't really spice up anything, unless the occasional meme counted as that, but he was quickly loved by everyone Toni knew.

"Happy Kwansa. Do you still hate black people, you disgusting bigot?" Mario reads from a card, then giggles and pulls out another.

"Merry Christmas! The only present I hope you get from Santa is death. I heard it's in season." Mario is really laughing now, and Marco has entered the room and is laughing now too.

"Happy New Year's! I hope your resolution is to end your pain and suffering. If it is, you'll finally understand what I had to put up with all those teenage years living with you. Anyways, hope you die!" Marco now reads, mouth curving into a large grin. Toni wonders why his his apartment is the designated hang out spot.

"Ooo, what about 'Happy Hannukah! I know neither of us celebrate it, but it's another day for me to remind you how much of a pathetic excuse of existence you are!'" Mario rolls over, he's laying on the floor, and stares at Toni, who stands above him, both bearing opposite looks.

"Your boyfriend sure has an interesting way of telling you he loves you." Marco says, looking all too smug. Toni chooses to raise a singular eyebrow.

"I'm not dating him."

Mario pouts slightly. "Awh, you should. He's pretty funny, seems like your type."

Toni is surprised by this. What he knew about Isco came from these misdirected letters, but he hadn't thought much more about him aside from what the other man had written. He had never contemplated if, perhaps, he knew someone who knew Isco. "You know him?"

Marco and Mario nod in perfect unison, twin smiles on their faces. "We had chem with him last year."

"What a legend."

"He accidentally set the classroom on fire."

"Twice."

Toni stares at the two blankly. It was strange to hear something about Isco from someone who was not Isco himself. He sounded quite the opposite of neat and meticulous Toni, who had never set a classroom on fire, not even once, thank you very much. "Sounds wonderful."

\----

Isco seals the envelope shut and gives Dani a sideways glance. His bearded roommate looked at him with a look that was a mixture of both humor and curiosity.

"If you hate him so much, why do you keep mailing him." Dani asks, cocking his head further as Isco shoves the envelope into his apartment's mailbox.

"I dunno." Isco pauses to think about it for a short while. "I started to a while ago and I just continued with it."

"Maybe," Dani starts, and he has a rather mischievous look on his face, unusual for the fact that his beard generally hid all facial expression. "maybe it's because you're bitter and full of hatred."

Isco frowns. "Maybe," he pauses, mimicking the pace of what his friend had said. "maybe you should shut up."

Dani laughs. "Isco, just take the L!"

Isco frowns, looking at his roommate with a more serious expression, then wrinkling his nose in mock disgust and horror. "Jesus Christo man, lay off of the internet for a little. That's so lame."

"You're the one wasting your journalism major on writing bitter hate mail for your dad." Dani quips, earning him an even angrier look from Isco.

"Fine, guess I'm never writing any of your essays for you ever again." Isco says, looking smug and defiant.

He had started writing his dad the letters the summer before his first year of college, having not talked to him since he was fifteen. At first, his father was completely appalled, and each of Isco's letters would be met with one of his own, accompanied by an angry phone call. Over the past two years his father responded to them less and less, but Isco really did enjoy writing them now.

This is one of the things he finds himself thinking about as he bikes up the hill leading away from his apartment to the grocery store. Riding his bicycle, as much as he loved it, made him think about his years growing up in the suburbs, bouncing around between his parents houses after the divorce (he of course had to mention this at least once a year-- his merry divorceaversary cards had to be hand made, unlike the rest of the store-bought ones). Moving into a huge city was nice though, away from his parents he felt like he was actually living his own life. But alas, nearly two months after moving into Madrid, his father had decide to move into town as well. Since then, the amount of cards he had sent had certainly gone up.

He is currently deciding which card to choose for valentines day when he bumps into someone taller than him (unsurprising, as many people were taller than him) in the greeting card section of the store. He quickly makes eye contact-- the man is rather curiously looking at him-- and then looks back at he cards.

"I'm sorry, am I in the way?"

The taller male shakes his head. "Nah, I'm looking for birthday cards." He says in a German accent, but smiles at Isco casually before casting his attention back towards the contents of the isle.

Isco nods nice and slow, also focusing on the cards in front of him, but he finds himself preoccupied with wondering if he had possibly met the man before. He looked young enough to be going to the same college as him, perhaps he had seen him around, but the face seemed to bring no recognition. Isco didn't like this, too social not to learn more about people he didn't know, especially when said person looked like they could be found at his college.

"Which do you think is better?" He asks the other college student, holding up two cards in his hands, one a pale pastel pink, the other a far brighter tint of magenta.

The taller boy pauses, blue eyes bouncing between the two cards, deep in thought. Eventually he settles on one, hand moving to point at the card in Isco's left hand. "I like the pastel one."

Only a few days later does Toni receive a card for valentines day. The card looks a little familiar, but it doesn't register as the very one he had pointed at in the store. At this point, nearly a year of card mailing had gone by, and they were practically expected at this point.

_To: Giant asshole  
From: Isco_

_It's valentines day! No one ever loved you_

This letter is by far the shortest he's received from Isco. It's met with a "maybe he's getting bored with you" from Thomas and a chorus of laughter from Marco and Mario, the bastards. It's so short that it even lacks the good grammar that is generally found in Isco's letters, and perhaps he even finds that he's a little sad that it was as short as it was. These letters were the only way he communicated with the other student, and only so many were sent throughout the year. He felt like he was missing out.

Surprisingly though, another one is sent with rapid speed slightly more than a month later.

_To: Asshole Father  
From: Isco_

_It's been a while since I've sent you something. You're so irrelevant, I forgot you existed! Isn't that just a knee slapper? By the way, are you dead yet?_

"You should write back!" Thomas says, being near instantly present for the opening of Toni's newest letter (Toni was unsure of how the letter openings became an event in his small group of German-Madrid transplants, but the hype was unbelievable).

The thought of writing back to Isco had come up before in Toni's mind. He had thought of doing it before, after the third or so letter, but he feared that this would make the letters stop, and that was not exactly the outcome he had wanted. But the whole thing had been going on for a year, and technically the letters weren't for him, and that wasn't fair to Isco (or Isco's dad).

_Dear Isco,_

_I hate to break it to you, but the address you've been writing to for the past year is no longer inhabited by your dad. I've been receiving your letters for this whole year, and while they are wildly entertaining, they aren't directed to me. Thank you for making me laugh so much over this past year._

_Cheers,  
Toni Kroos_

Isco read over the letter at least three times in varying states of distress. Sure, a few times his dad had written back, and only sometimes would he read it. But this was rather alarming, a letter from the same address as his dad, but a different name, different handwriting, and that lead him to instantly open it. He grimaced, feeling horrible that someone aside from his friends and father (he had _tried_ to show his mother what he had written once or twice but she didn't appreciate _true art_ ) had to read the things he mailed.

_Dear Toni,_

_I apologize severely for all of the inappropriate things I have written to you this past year. At least you got some amusement from my enraged ramblings. Hopefully you are in the same age range as me and I haven't been writing these to some poor ancient seventy five year old man. I would hate for a "It's your birthday. I'd say happy birthday, but I wish you were never conceived" to be the last things a senior citizen read before he promptly died from a heart attack due to the vulgarity of my existence._

_Many apologies,  
Isco_

_P.S: Do you know where my dad lives now, I have quite a few things to mail that fucker._

After mailing the letter, Isco asks his roommate if he knew of a Toni.

Dani squints his eyes in thought for a few seconds before they light up. "Oh yeah, definitely! We share a major."

Isco stares at him somewhat pensively. "Is it a Toni Kroos?"

Dani's face is blank once again. "That sounds right but I dunno, buddy. Why are you even asking?"

Isco sits down on his bed in the dorm, a dark expression passing his face. There is not much light in the room, and it is far past dusk outside, a midnight blue sky illuminated by a half moon and a handful of stars. What light that does come in through the window is pale and scarce, and sets deeper sinister shadows on Isco's face. "The letters."

Dani is still very oblivious. He looks at Isco, who seems quite dedicated to being vague, with an expression that reads of extreme confusion. "What about your letters? Let me guess, you just realized how emo they all are and that you have daddy issues?"

Isco's face only grows darker and more annoyed when Dani says this. "No! All of those cards I've been sending for the past year, none of them have been going to my dad. They got sent to some poor guy, Toni Kroos."

Dani winces in sympathy for his friend. "Ouch. Why hasn't he gotten a restraining order for you yet?"

\----

Marco pushes through Toni's doorway (the poor college student had given Marco and Mario a key to share as they came in often enough and it was getting annoying to bother with the door), Toni's mail in one hand and the all so familiar key in another. Mario tails behind him, smiling ear to ear as usual. "Toni, Isco sent you another letter!"

Toni, currently in the kitchen, making ramen for himself and trying very hard not to burn his own damn house down, immediately exits the kitchen with far more excitement than he'd like for anyone to know. Toni was never the enthusiastic one in his circle of friends, he was the stoic one, the one who was supposed to remain neutral and calm in times of need.

Damn that, he thinks to himself, and he snatches the letter from Marco's damn grubby hands. He reads it first, silently mouthing the words as he scans the page. Mario and Marco, being the excitable children that they are, watch his face as he reads with some of glee ruminating from the duo.

"What does it say?" Marco asks.

Mario quickly follows this up. "Is he proclaiming his love for you? Or is it another hate letter?"

Marco's grin only grows wider. "IS HE SEXTING YOU OVER THE MAIL?!"

Toni looks up from the paper with a look that is a mixture of annoyance, horror and anger. "No, no and no. You guys really are children. We're not going to talk about Isco anymore, end of subject."

Nevertheless, the topic of Isco does come up, when the three are playing FIFA just later that day, as it storms and pours outside. Toni is currently lamenting the fact that they are missing a fourth player, actually wishing that Thomas was here for the first time in his entire existence. Mario and Marco have currently teamed up and are whooping his ass, and he can only complain about "youngsters" (in reality, Mario was only half a year younger and Marco was the same age as him) so often.

"You should have invited Isco to play with us." Marco complains, now hanging upside down off of the couch. Unfortunately for Toni, Marco is able to beat him in this position as well.

"Ooo, that would be great. You really should invite him over sometime." Mario says from the kitchen, voice slightly muffled as he chewed through some popcorn. Toni looks up to realize that the other German had left the room to go get food and he still was losing. He is never, ever going to play FIFA with them ever again.

"Hold up, hold up. I have never met Isco! I've only written him once! I don't know how old he is, or what he looks like, or anything about him. So I don't get why you two are acting like I'm in love with the guy."

Marco scrunches his eyes in thought, trying to conjure up an image of the man in question. Mario tries to do the same, but his face remains blank as he stares off into space. "He's kinda short, beard, his hair's pretty brown?, he's thin, I'm pretty sure he has some tattoos. Nice eyes. Tan. He's kinda scruffy, but attractive." Marco nods in agreement, mumbling something along the lines of teasing Toni that Isco was just his type.

"That is literally every guy in the entire country of Spain." Toni says, glaring.

However, Toni's words are a little more kind when he writes back to Isco that night. He wonders for a short while why he even had the thought of continuing to write to Isco when there wasn't a single reason to, and when he knows absolutely next to nothing about him. But there's some allure to writing to Isco, perhaps it is that it seems to resemble what he imagines long distance romance was in an older time, though Isco didn't live far away (actually painfully close, and Toni wonders if perhaps he has seen him about), wasn't in any way romantically tied to him (Toni realizes that he knows little about Isco, but Isco knows even less, only knowing that Toni is not his dad) and it was still quite modern (Tonk was thankful for this, for more reasons than just the ability to play FIFA).

\----

Isco has been writing (and receiving) letters to Toni for a little longer than he'd like to admit to anyone (Dani especially), but he found the other entertaining to say the least. It feels oddly important, something that matters more than it should, and while Isco hasn't a clue why it does, he continues (only after swearing to find his dad's address and begin his hate letters once again), content in his little pen-pal friendship.

Toni seems kind and genuinely caring, which is a bit of a contrast to the deadpan snark of Dani or James's absentminded nodding (his Colombian friend had the been a little less responsive ever since meeting (in his words) "the hottest man to grace the planet, Cristiano Ronaldo"). Toni's Spanish is a little awkward, but it's endearing and easily recognizable, which is just as good in Isco's eyes. He hears tales of the German's life back in his home country, and the antics of his wild friends (all German, Toni seemed to live in a bubble of his own people) now in Spain.

So when Isco bumps into a guy in an early summer house party with eerily similar Spanish to that of the letters he has read, he is wildly interested. The man is blonde and taller than Isco (and perhaps is the guy he had seen at the store a while ago, but that doesn't help him much), with dark circles under his eyes but a bright smile. He's chatting with a few people (Isco can't seem to recognize any of them), but seems vaguely annoyed with their continuous attempts to get him to talk to a girl who is far too drunk to be at the party (at this point Isco realizes that perhaps he is reading a little too far into this).

He bumps into him in the kitchen, both reaching for another beer from the refrigerator, hands resting on the same bottle. Isco quickly takes his hand off, but the blonde slides the beer back to him, smiling.

"You have it." He says, his voice signaling that he clearly wasn't from Spain.

Isco shakes his head, arm still in the refrigerator. "No, you have it."

The smile on the blonde's face does not waver. "No, seriously. Take it."

Isco plants the beer firmly in the taller man's hands. "It's yours, I'll grab another."

The German shakes his head. "Last one of this type. Take it."

Isco rolls his eyes and grabs a different brand beer. "Too late. My hands are full."

The German frowns, and then looks down at the beer bottle. He seems to be lost in thought, but Isco keeps his attention focused towards finding a bottle opener and not the expression on some random blonde's face.

"Can we switch?" The blonde finally asks.

"What?"

The taller college student looks a little sheepish. "Can we switch beers? I prefer yours."

Isco stares at him blankly. "We just fought over that beer, and now you don't want it?" The blonde nods and Isco pauses. "Sure. Just help me find a bottle opener."

Toni half smiles at the shorter boy, still feeling awkward. He was buzzed enough to be perhaps a little too outspoken but sober enough to cringe internally at voicing unneeded opinions. He tries searching around the kitchen, but everything is messier than the cluttered thoughts in his head (once again, Toni swears to himself that he's never going to drink). "This place is a wreck. I feel sorry for whoever lives here."

The shorter man glances around the kitchen, which was beyond trashed at this point. "Yeah, this is messy as fuck. Sergio is gonna throw a fit." At this point the sound of someone vomiting in the bathroom closest to the kitchen is more than audible, and both college students wince.

Toni and his mystery Spanish acquaintance are never able to find the bottle opener (nor does Toni get the name of the guy, but the way the spaniard speaks is oddly familiar). He eventually leaves the kitchen, having opened the bottle by using a spoon (Toni nearly breaks both the spoon and his wrist in the process, but a cold beer is worth it) and returns to his friend group. He near instantly regrets this as they drag him off to play beer pong against their school's current gay fashion icon (Cristano Ronaldo, while not _technically_ being a celebrity, is seemingly known by everyone Toni has met in Madrid).

"Why the--" Marco pauses to hiccup, and Toni fears that his friend may get alcohol poisoning at this rate of drinking. "fuck aren't you excited about this? We're--" yet another hiccup "fuckin' playing Cristiano Ronaldo, and you're just standing there all lame and shit."

"Marco, maybe you should quit drinking for tonight." Toni says, and this seems to earn a loud laugh from both Mario and Thomas, who are also deeply embroiled in this game of beer pong.

"We're German, Toni. We must drink." Thomas deadpans, and pushes Marco back towards the beer pong game. Toni groans internally.

Toni watches Marco continue to lose his beer pong match and continues to feel very sorry for the blonde, who is going to be horribly hungover. But Marco is stubborn and persistent to him and his "team" playing beer pong, so in order to keep his friend from dying, Toni steps in (Marco is really going to have to thank him later).

It turns out that he is paired up against the same bearded spaniard that he had seen in the kitchen. Said college student is rather good at beer pong, he learns, as he takes a far too many gulps of (disgustingly cheap) beer than he'd like.

After a few rounds after he finally gets his "mojo" going (Toni is solidly going to blame Mario and his love of goofy words for changing his vocabulary for the worst), Toni feels Marco's breath on his neck.

"Pssst, Toni." He hisses, breath laden with alcohol.

Toni does bother to turn his head at all, now determined to win this. "What, Marco?"

"Don't look now, but Cristiano Ronaldo, the one and only, is watching you play beer pong. You've been blessed, mate."

Toni wants to slam his head through a wall at this point, as it has been obvious that Cristiano Ronaldo (one couldn't just say his first name, it was blasphemy) would be there since he was the one playing the game. However, Toni couldn't deny that it was rather strange to see the tan man standing there candidly, when Toni had heard countless women and men (particularly Mario) gush on about him and talk about him as if he was a god. And yet there he stood, with the bearded spaniard to his right and James (a self proclaimed "twink"), one of Toni's few non-German friends, practically hanging off of his left side.

This small amount of thinking and speculation ends up horribly screwing over Toni's aim, and he quickly loses to the Spanish college student. However, he watches the shorter man leave Cristiano and James and make his way to Toni's side of the table.

"Why are you over here?"

The Spanish man smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. "A little hostile, no?"

Toni smiles back, even though he can practically feel Marco's displeasure with the "enemy" being at their half of the table.

The Spanish man decides to continue before Toni gets a chance to speak. "James is completely wasted and is probably going to declare his love for Cris as soon as this beer pong game is over, and personally, I don't want to be near him when he gets rejected."

Toni nods solemnly, reflecting on all the times he had to deal with Mario sitting on his couch, eating all his ice cream and wailing about rejection. "Well, my friend over here," he jabs a finger in Marco's general direction "is about as wasted as James, so how about we leave the beer pong table?"

And this is how Toni finds himself talking to a nameless Spanish stranger about summer holidays and his home back in Germany in the garden of Sergio Ramos (a college legend nearly on Cristiano's level). It's definitely pleasant, Toni decides, as it is far quieter in the garden, away from loud music and yelling that seems to plague the indoor swatch of the party. There is no one to interrupt conversation aside from the chirping crickets and cicadas, and a choir of insects is a better atmosphere than drunken young adults in Toni's books.

Toni and his newfound friend were talking about the various clubs at their college (both easily agreed that the pride association was a little too crazy for them) when they hear footsteps nearing them. Toni frowns, his conversation with the spaniard was surprisingly pleasant, and he thought they were getting somewhere, only for all of this progress to be interrupted.

As both college students turned their heads in unison to see no one other than Sergio Ramos, party host extraordinaire, emerge from the bushes. Sergio was dragging James Rodriguez by his hair, and the younger man looked to be in tears, though Toni was almost certainly sure it wasn't because of the hair pulling. "Sorry to burst in you guys' thing, but this guy," Sergio drawls, yanking James's hair for emphasis "got rejected by one of my friends. I found him sobbing to the group of Chileans hogging my xbox. He told me you could help, I dunno."

Sergio shoves James closer to the two and walks off, muttering something along the lines of "never inviting him ever again". James, bleary eyed and pouting? looks over at Toni and Mystery Spaniard sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't know y'all were... y'know..."

Toni looks at him confusedly. Mystery Spaniard gives James a look of pure annoyance. "We're not."

The rest of the conversation that night is painfully awkward.

\----

Toni makes his way back to his apartment that night in relative peace, thankful that Mario and Thomas decided to drag Marco home instead of burdening him with Toni (though he had his doubts that Marco was in safe hands with the two). He finds his thoughts drifting off about Mystery Spaniard and their conversation, and then about how he really hadn't dated anyone in a very long time.

Right before Toni falls asleep that night he realizes that he never got the other man's name. He dreams of meeting the other man again and wakes up that morning slightly hungover, but with the Spanish man's face in his head.

This continues for the next few nights, and Toni is a little embarrassed to admit he had stalled through every Instagram post from the party goers to see if he can find anything about who the mystery man is, but he finds nothing. Absolutely nothing. He sifts through photo after photo, and eventually he does find a photo of that same bearded college student, smiling and standing next to another bearded man and only a pace away from Sergio Ramos and Iker Casillas. Unfortunately, he isn't tagged or even mentioned by name.

So Toni does what he does best and pushes the thoughts aside and tries his hardest to enjoy the summer in Madrid. If he's not working, he's either exploring the city or hanging out with Thomas (who is unfortunately his only German friend who has remained in town). He stops looking out for a familiar face at the grocery store or the pool or on the street, and in turn the man slowly fades from his dreams and thoughts.

But it ends up that summer is peaceful and enjoyable, and he finds that his time is easily occupied (not going back to Germany was decidedly a good choice). However, he is determined to keep his pen-pal friendship with Isco going, even though he thinks it strange that he has never seen the other man despite them living in the same city and going to the same college.

It only dawns on him that Isco has his address late in the evening as he walks home from work. And as if it were some supernatural premonition, as he nears his apartment door, there is a note taped to it, scribbled on a napkin in very familiar handwriting. He doesn't even need to read to the bottom of the note to know who wrote it, and without knowing it, a smile passes across his face.

_To Not Actually My Dad,_

_Since we've technically known of each other's existence for a long ass time I figured we should meet up. See you at Los Blancos cafe this Friday, 8pm_

_Isco_

\----

Toni is surprisingly worried in the hours leading up to meeting Isco. For one, he hadn't a clue on how the other boy knew when he didn't have work (though he figured that Isco had a feeling Toni wasn't working Friday nights, like most other self respecting college students), and for another, he didn't know what Isco looked like. Isco could be ugly or as beautiful as the girl that lived down the hall from Toni, and he wouldn't have a clue.

So after checking his appearance in the mirror for what seems to be the thousandth time, Toni finally leaves his apartment, bike in tow. He tries to ride slowly as to not arrive to the café sweaty and disgusting, but summer nights in Madrid are hot and humid, and the air is like soup. He checks his hair one last time in the window in his reflection on the café after locking his bike and only then enters the establishment.

Toni slowly surveys the building, which is surprisingly empty for a Friday night in the summer in Madrid, but he figures everyone else is out clubbing. There is a horde of girls chattering in line by a rather nervous looking cashier (Toni thinks he recognizes him as a fellow German college student-- Mesut Özil), and two guys from the pack of Chileans that haunt their college ordering coffee, but aside from that, there is no one. Toni frowns, thinking he has been stood up, and only gets more annoyed five minutes into standing in line (the gaggle of girls each have a ridiculously long order, and he feels sorry for poor Mesut, who looks like he is going to have an aneurysm).

He's given up on meeting Isco right after ordering his coffee until he spies a quiet college student sitting by the window, mug of tea and muffin on the table. Toni realizes that he had completely overlooked the bearded man and his annoyance melts away. He looks familiar, and while he doesn't know the other man's name, something in his gut tells him that this is Isco.

In the most daring move of (at least) the past two years of his life, Toni takes the seat across from the shorter man and decides to introduce himself. "Hey, I'm Toni."

He worries for a split second that he has just randomly introduced himself to a stranger when the other man looks up. As soon as they make eye contact, he realizes that this is indeed the man from the house party, his Mystery Spaniard. With crinkling warm eyes and a firm smile, the other man nods.

"Isco."

Toni's eyes drop to the sketchbook that Isco's hands nearly drape over and he reads the note jotted next to the drawing on it and knows that this is the man he had been writing to for months.

"Strange meeting you in person, huh?"

Isco shakes his head and smiles, pleasant and grounded and Toni cannot help but beam. "Well it's not the first time."

Toni's thoughts first drift to the party and then to the man asking him about cards in the grocery store and he wonders how many other times he and Isco's paths had crossed. "Yeah, well now I can put a name and face together."

From then conversation goes smoothly, and Toni is equally surprised and impressed with how forward he is talking to Isco. They just seem to click, and he feels like he has known the other for fat longer than he has. Conversation has a good rhythm and it's far better debating about Olly Murs with Isco than rehashing the mechanics of the latest FIFA game with his small circle of German friends.

Toni doesn't realize how quickly time flies by talking to someone you're genuinely interested in until far later that night. Isco and he had walked their bikes (it was less embarrassing to arrive at a café sweaty and out of breath of the person you are meeting with had also just biked there) and up the hill to the park across from the college dorms. The grass is soft and long, and trees dot the field casting long shadows. Toni and Isco had just found a nice spot under a particularly large tree, legs tangled in over grown grass and eyes fixated towards the lightning bugs zipping through the night sky when Toni's phone begins to ring.

He pulls it out to see Mario's caller ID and decides not to pick up, turning off his phone and shoving it even deeper in his pocket. Unfortunately for him, Mario isn't deterred by this and proceeds to call two more times before leaving a voicemail.

"You could have just picked up the first time, you know." Isco drawls, eyes half closed and leaning against the tree.

"He does this all the time. It's not worth it." Toni grumbles, and only after does he realize he sounds like a petulant child.

"Yeah, but it's like almost midnight. You should at least listen to the voicemail." Isco continues, only fully opening his eyes to glance at his phone to check the time.

Toni's eyes widen to immense proportions-- he hadn't realized how late it was-- and decides to follow Isco's advice. He tries to listen to the voicemail, but the cicadas are a powerful force in the summertime and he only makes out a few words, "Marco", "vodka" and "gone", so he gives up on trying to make sense of it and puts his phone away.

"It's not worth it." He says with the shake of his head, earning a slight chuckle from Isco.

"Savage." the bearded man says with a wink practically waiting on his face, smiling before launching into a full-hearted monologue on something completely different.

Toni isn't sure who suggests walking, but he ends up strolling through the park with Isco at his side, arms and hands brushing together but unsure of what to do with the proximity. Somehow the conversation drifts towards being single and queer (Toni is more surprised to find out that Isco is gay than Isco is finding out that Toni is into guys), and perhaps lines are crossed or blurred but nothing is definite and if Isco is flirting, Toni has given up on finding out a while ago. However, as their walk deposits them back by their bikes, Toni does learn that Isco is as single as he, and is looking for someone.

"It's pretty late." Isco mumbles, unlocking his bike from the stand. Toni, squatting on the ground to do the same, looks up.

"So should we call this an end?"

"Yeah, I guess." Isco pauses for a second. "We should do it again."

Toni nods swiftly, but stays silent for s long time. Eventually he looks back up, trying to read the expression on the shorter man's face. "Is this a date?"

The look on the other college student's face goes from stony and unreadable to one of mischief. "If you want it to be."

Toni wants to be smooth, he really does, but being suave has never been his forté, and after they exchange goodnights he decides to answer what Isco had said. In his mind, he'd lean down and and they'd kiss and it'd be disgustingly romantic, because it is a beautiful summer night in Madrid and there are lightning bugs and a serenade song sung by crickets other assorted insects and perhaps Toni is more of a romantic than he'd like to admit.

But this isn't in his mind, and things don't go his way. Instead of managing to be smooth and cool and pull it off, Toni is nervous and hesitant and instead of leaning in to kiss Isco on the mouth, he makes contact with the scruffy side of the spaniard's face, and he hurriedly bikes away before Isco can utter a word.

Toni wakes up the next morning disheveled and uncomfortable, still in his button down and jeans (which only after sleeping a night in did Toni realize no longer fit him, yet another reminder to go to the gym more often), but with a smile playing on his face. As he changes into clothes that don't plaster themselves to his body, a folded note falls out of his jeans' pocket.

As his eyes scan over familiar scrawl, the smile that has been lingering on his face morphs into a grin, and the note asking him to meet up on Tuesday gets pinned onto the fridge right next to the first letter he had received the other man.

They do go out on Tuesday, and then Friday, and at some casual get together held near where Marco lived, and before he knows it, he is with Isco more often at not. At some point he gets the other's number, but that doesn't stop the notes he finds slid into his pockets or hidden in the hoods of his hoodies or in the breadbox. It's far more endearing than he'd like to admit, but Isco has a way with words that makes Toni grin uncontrollably.

The line between friendship and relationship is so horribly, horribly blurred, but it feels right, so Toni never complains. He's not sure exactly when things definitely go in the way of them being a thing, but it happens at some point between the Madrid Pride Festival and the terrifying train wreck that was Thomas Müller's birthday party (it is something that is only now referred to as the Everclear Incident, but shared traumatic experiences really do cement a relationship).

Only because Toni is more of a sap than he'd outwardly admit, he tries to pinpoint an exact moment where they crossed that line, but Isco apparently "doesn't subscribe to labels". He does earn the other man's trust quickly though, peering through seemingly endless directories and web pages because the shorter man was determined to find his father's address to mail a card before his father's birthday passes (if Toni didn't know about the content of the cards he'd think it was the sweetest thing in the world).

They finally do find it, the two flipping through what is the fifteenth directory, scanning the pages together as not to miss the name. Toni asks Isco why he didn't get more people to help him and Isco responds with a sheepish smile, eyes downcast but mouth open to reveal pearly teeth and in the dim lighting in Toni's apartment he looks fantastic. Perhaps not like a model, Toni contemplates, but someone you would see in a photo taken by someone you never met but were drawn to in some sort of voyeuristic aesthetic appreciative way (and as soon as those thoughts pass through his head Toni inwardly grumbles because Isco really has rubbed off on him).

"I don't trust anyone else with that kinda information, you know?" Isco looks up for a second before shaking his head. "It sounds pretty stupid, huh?"

Toni murmurs something agreeing about it being stupid-- just because he cared didn't mean he was going to always be supportive, but circles the name of Isco's father, once, twice, three times in red pen. The address is still branded into his memory when they go pick out a card at the grocery store (they decide to ditch the usual bright colors for a card with rainbows on it). Isco writes the card in solitude, but Toni wakes up to a photo of the message inscribed on the inside the next morning. It was strange not to be on the receiving end of the hate.

Toni doesn't think that he is very good with expressing his emotions, but something tugs deep inside his chest when he sees a certain Polaroid photo (too many of Isco's friends are insufferable hipsters) of the two of them lying in the grass in someone's (most likely Sergio's) garden. It instantly brings back memories of that night, and while that night wasn't fantastic, the ability to surface vivid memories makes it a favorite of Toni's (which only makes him more than a little annoyed, because it makes him feel like more of an insufferable hipster than he'd like).

He isn't really sure how he got invited to Iker Casillas's party (nor is he sure what it is celebrating, it is early August and Iker isn't even born in the summer), perhaps because every single other German going to their college still in Madrid was there, or maybe because Isco was invited and now the two of them seem to be a package deal.

Regardless of motive, he ends up at Iker Casillas's party, held at the college student's house (Sergio would have probably hosted it, but since the last party held at his house ended in cops and someone puking in the bathroom sink nine times, he had decided to "retire" (this lasting approximately three months)). He has been sitting on the couch trying to play some strange drinking game for the past thirty minutes, squished between Marco, who is already shitfaced (Marco has a knack for getting fantastically drunk very quick) and James, who is no more sober than the blonde (James, who is stoned for perhaps the third time in his life has been rambling for a solid twenty minutes about entropy, which is not only annoying, but also vaguely depressing). To say the least, this is a horrible combination for a drinking game (and most other things as well), so when Isco waltzes out of the kitchen to pluck Toni off of the couch, the German leaves swiftly without a single complaint.

They retreat back into the kitchen, where it is only slightly quieter, the main source of volume coming from the new welsh exchange student (Toni could never remember names, but he's pretty sure it's Gareth) and Cristiano Ronaldo, who are making up for the language gap by gesticulating wildly, but Isco seems perfectly at home in parties (he's starting to think that the Spaniard was only dragging him away to places with a lower volume for his sake). They make small talk with Isco's friend who is 90% beard and 10% man and Mesut, who is quite possibly the human version of a chihuahua.

Isco, for as much as he loves partying, decides that perhaps the kitchen is no longer a safe option when Cristiano and Gareth get a game of gay chicken started, and Toni agrees without a hitch. However it seems that the entire downstairs floor of the house is in a state of complete chaos. In the living room a particularly rowdy game of twister, hosted by the leader of the college's group of Chileans, Alexis Sanchez, is going on (and possibly even more homoerotic than Cristiano's game of gay chicken). The dining room is slowly turning into a moshpit, and to actually get through the room would be hell. Trying to find a less rowdy spot, the duo nearly walk in on Thomas and his girlfriend in the bedroom. The back yard is in just as bad of a state, with what seems to be a wrestling match between a Danish and Eastern European man, both covered in tattoos, going on next to a giant smoke circle by the fire pit. Iker stands near the door, face stuck in an expression between shock and pure depression.

"Hey, look, it's not all that bad, I've had parties that went worse." Sergio says, hand on Iker's shoulder, but his voice is not very convincing and his eyes look as worried as Iker's. Truth be told, this party was nowhere near ending, and was already as wild as the end of any party Sergio had thrown.

Toni thinks that perhaps he and Isco have walked in on an important moment, so he starts backing up, walking over towards the spiraling staircase leading to the second floor of the house. As much as he'd like to give Iker a moment of peace and privacy, there's no way he's walking back into that living room (Marco's ass in James's face on the twister mat is a sight he does not need to see ever again).

Isco steps on a particularly creaky step on the stairs, and Iker's head, resting on Sergio's chest, snaps up to spot the two younger men on the staircase.

"Oh god are you going up there with your boyfriend, Isco?" He calls out to his friend. Toni's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, but Isco remains unperturbed.

"Uh, yeah?" Isco says, and then turns to mouth _"so we're boyfriends?"_ to Toni, who shrugs in response.

"Just don't use my bedroom, please." Iker pleads, and the two college students only pick up what he means well after they enter the second story.

(But Isco has a rebellious streak, so Iker's bedroom is the only place they have sex in.)

\----

In the winter it's harder to go places (or at least Isco thinks, but in Toni's eyes the entire country of Spain was a baby when it came to the cold), so they spend less time cycling to cafes or roaming through the city and more time in Toni's apartment playing FIFA and trying to figure out the science of cooking. Neither Isco or Toni could cook, but it was rather entertaining to pretend to being contestants on Iron Chef as they burned through whatever they tried to make.

The key Mario used to have to Toni's apartment now belongs to Isco, who practically lives there anyways. Their sweaters and over-shirts get swapped around, but even when Marco teases that Isco has rubbed off on Toni, the taller man couldn't help but smile.

"He's here more often than we are!" Marco exclaims when Isco is there before either he or Thomas made their way to the living room.

"Yeah, well are you dating him?" Isco asks, jabbing a thumb in the general direction of Toni, cocky smile on his face as he leans back in the couch.

"We're his best friends! We take priority." Thomas grumbles, pushing Isco off of the couch. Isco frowns comically from his newfound seat on the floor.

"Who said we were dating?" Toni asks, suddenly at the couch. Marco and Thomas give him a look that coveys how little they believe that.

"Says everyone who has ever seen you two." Marco deadpans.

"Never formally asked each other out, though." Isco states, mock defiance lighting up his eyes.

"Doesn't matter now. Everyone knows." Thomas says, now sprawled out on the couch.

Toni's thoughts start to wander to the months after Iker's house party. Things between Isco and him were not that different, but everyone's perception was. Since rumor had gotten out that they were a thing, everyone had believed it.

So perhaps Toni and Isco went with it. "Dates" were more frequent, and hand holding and other, more x rated things, seemed to be happening, but it lacked the officiality of a label. Unsure about how to feel about this lack of a title for their relationship (Toni was secretly more of a romantic than he'd like to let on), he decided to push his thoughts aside. There was a game of FIFA to win.

And they do win, which is a first for Toni, because Marco and Thomas are like gods at the game. So as the Spaniard and he whooped and hollered, celebrating this rare victory, the two other Germans sulked on the other side of the couch.

"You don't have to rub it in." Marco grumbles. Thomas nods fervently.

"You know, we could be celebrating in worse ways." Toni fires back, eyes still ablaze from victory. Isco smirks beside him.

"How so?" Thomas asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Could be making out right now. Would you like us to?" Toni asks, mouth curling up at the edges. Isco suddenly is a lot closer, mischief in his eyes and a cocky look on his face. Suddenly Thomas and Marco realize that neither Toni nor Isco were above doing that, and shake their heads.

\----

Enjoying the spring breeze, Toni walked back from his college class to his apartment, whistling and swinging his keys. Collecting the mail, he walked up the flights of stairs to get to his apartment.

Only later did he notice amongst the envelops splayed out on his desk that one was not junk or bills. Picking up the smaller lime green envelope, Toni scanned for an address, and upon seeing the same familiar handwriting and accompaniment of letters and numbers, a smile spread upon his face.

_To: Not My Asshole Father_

Toni rolled his eyes, but there was endearment in these words. He opened the envelope to find a dusty green card inside.

_Dear Toni,_

_Happy spring equinox? It's not too exciting of a holiday, but I'm a festive man, as you already know. Gotta celebrate holidays with cards. So, on this lovely meaningless holiday, I figured that I should tell you something, in my own trademark way. I think it's rather fitting, since you met me through my letters._

_I love you._

_Isco_


End file.
